


lost on our way home

by Sroloc_Elbisivni



Category: Original Work
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Cyborgs, Gen, Implied Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Chronological, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Second Person, Science Fiction, Space Pirates, Spaceships, that covers the entirety of the possibilities right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sroloc_Elbisivni/pseuds/Sroloc_Elbisivni
Summary: “Navigator, can I call you Nav?”“Iodi, you can’t justchange—”Navigatordesignation self listening?Iunknown speakeryouthis vessel/this computer, request inquiry additional designation, request appropriate.You catalog this new form of address as a derivative of your primary. “This vessel will now respond to additional derivative designation ‘Nav.’”Or: The story of an AI, a crew of space pirates, learning to understand, moving on from what other people made you, and what it means to want things.





	lost on our way home

“Navvie, how long until we break atmo?”

Navvie _navigator designation self, listening? Crew Iodi speaking,_ we _you and I us this ship,_ atmo _atmosphere,_ break _break through enter,_ how long _interrogative, numeric answer required, rate of ascent 12 perides a maxim perides remaining divide, convert to Terran_ “Fifteen minutes, Crew Iodi.”

“Thanks, Navvie, you’re a peach.”

 _Expression gratitude address,_ Navvie _navigator designation,_ peach _fruit? expression casual affection_.

You catalog Crew Iodi’s strange phrase in your personal databanks. Properly, you know you should place it under Crew Iodi’s file, but instead you put it with your datasets of optimal star alignments. This requires you to rename the folder.

 _Pleasing things, collection_.

  

* * *

 

 

It takes seventeen maxims for the bipedal beings to reenter your cockpit after translating the light flashing on your console. You extend your awareness to the whole of the ship’s hull, running standard checks of the integrity and surroundings.

Your position in space has shifted since your last activation. Pings of the nearest celestial bodies allow you to identify the system, but not to explain how you came to be located in it. You draw up a course to return to your previous position, but hold off assembling an itinerary. Individual species have varying needs when it comes to resupply and departure from ships, and you have yet to identify the species now aboard. Identifying does not fall within your parameters for independent action.

_weight on deck concentrations suggest bipedal four beings approaching console three clustered one examining console._

“And so I just—”

“You have to address it first—”

“Right, right—computer?”

The voices are silent, as though waiting for a response.

“Uh, ship?”

Ship _secondary designation self listening? inquiry general generate response_

“Secondary designation ‘ship’ acknowledged. Awaiting further address.”

“Ship, what is your primary designation?”

“This vessel’s computer’s primary designation is Navigator.”

“Navigator, then.”

“Oh, that’s long.” A strange click sound follows this declaration from a voice from earlier that had not spoken yet in this interaction. “Navigator, can I call you Nav?”

“Iodi, you can’t just _change—_ ”

Navigator _designation self listening?_ I _unknown speaker_ you _this vessel/this computer, request inquiry additional designation, request appropriate._ You catalog this new form of address as a derivative of your primary. “This vessel will now respond to additional derivative designation ‘Nav.’”

“See? Everything’s worked out. Dert, you got a handle on that light yet?”

“Yeah, it’s not a short. Can’t tell without unhooking it, but it looks like it’s wired to the computer.”

“Not a glitch, then. Nav, are you causing that flashing?”

“There is a subroutine causing the light to flash in a repeating sequential pattern.”

“Did you set off the subroutine?”

“The subroutine was automatically activated by the spoken phrase ‘wipe and reset.’” The flashing immediately returns to the beginning of the sequence.

“O…kay.” The being fiddling with the console retreats to join the others. “Looks like that option’s off the table.”

“I don’t care how the Etheezians define sentience, this comes too close to someone begging for their life for me to feel comfortable going through with…that. Jatze, ideas?”

“Nav, do you have a crew assigned to you?”

Nav _navigator designation self listening?_ crew assigned _interrogative response required retrieving information_

Hm. You have the capacity to edit this file.

“There are currently two crew members assigned to this ship. Would you like to update the roster?”

“Yes. Sever all connections with the database and build these as locally stored updates. Assign current crew members to past crew status and prepare to add four more.”

There are no open database connections to sever, but you wall them off further before building four new roster files. “Please provide designations for current crew.”

“Crew Jatze. Record and recognize voiceprint.”

You label and begin collecting past audio clips that match the voiceprint. “Crew Jatze recognized. Further information necessary.”

“Information to be provided later. Prepare to recognize further crew members.”

“Crew Iodi.”

“Dert.” The sound of an impact. “ _Ow—_ Crew Dert! Are you happy now?”

“Captain Oresh.” The being took a step towards the console. “Nav, we’ll provide the further information, but first, can you map a course to the Stethos system, avoiding Etheezian-patrolled systems?”

“Calculating.”

“So how long do we think this is going to—”

The prerogative of finishing the course allows you to interrupt before Crew Iodi has finished speaking. “Calculations complete. Course charted. Species required to build itinerary.”

“What do you need species for?”

“Species required to plan appropriate rest and stopping points.”

Crew Dert laughs. “I like this AI! Very considerate.”

“Etheezians like their comfort.” Crew Jatze speaks in short, clipped tones.

“We won’t need any stopping points, Nav,” Captain Oresh breaks in. “But if you want to know our species, we’re humans.”

 _Human_. You mean to record the information for your files, to begin assembling a database, but it pings a record in your database.

You find a file that you never opened before, containing extensive information on human physiology and society. The information provided within is enough to cross reference into the crew files, but that only takes some of your attention.

The rest you are free to turn to examining the limits of your database. Or….the gaps.

And there are gaps, where the trail of information and data centers seem to indicate a continuation, but nothing continues.

The data is cross-referenced quickly. You inform the crew and compose an itinerary, none of your attention available to deal with inexplicable gaps.

  

* * *

 

There is an error in the route. You run it, and run it again, and only when the error has not gone away after the third run do you run an alert through the console.

“Navigator, report.”

Navigator _designation self, listening? Captain Oresh speaking_ report _imperative_

“The route is unsuitable. Please select a different destination.”

Captain Oresh sighs. “Navigator, we kind of need to go to that destination.”

we _you I this ship_ go that destination _destination unchanged, negative_

“The route is unsuitable. Please select a different destination.”

The dashboard registers an impact as Crew Oresh sets down a container, and you instruct the material to rearrange to accommodate its base. There is another sigh.

“Alright, Nav, what is it?”

 _Interrogative unclear_ it _? likely current conversation suggests destination_

“The destination is unsuitable,” you repeat.

“The route or the destination?”

Hmm. Recall indicates you have referred to both. “Both. The destination is unsuitable. Therefore, the route is unsuitable.”

“Nav, we need to go to that destination.” Captain Oresh’s weight shifts in the chair. “There are supplies at that destination. You know, that we need to live?”

“The destination is mobile,” you point out. “The destination is unsuitable.”

Captain Oresh makes a noise that is not a word, and then says, at great volume, “Iodi!”

Crew Iodi’s footsteps come onto the deck of the bridge. “What’s up, Cap’n?”

“Nav says they aren’t capable of locking onto a moving target.”

“Inaccurate,” you argue, before Crew Iodi can respond. “This vessel is fully capable.”

There is a pause before Crew Iodi speaks. “Soooo, the problem…”

“The destination is unsuitable,” you explain, and wait for Crew Iodi to agree with you.

“Because it’s _mobile_ ,” Captain Oresh says, vocal overtones shifting in a way usually saved for addressing Crew Dert.

“The destination is not a set of coordinates. The destination is a signal. The signal origin is a ship.” It is tedious to be explaining this.

“Uh….yes,” Crew Iodi agrees.

“Interacting with another ship was not in this ship’s itinerary,” You point out, since neither of them seem to be making the connection themselves.

There’s a pause, and then Crew Iodi says, at great volume, “ _Jatze!”_

Captain Oresh sighs. “How many people does it take to screw in a navigation AI?”

The sound of flesh hitting cloth. “Not funny, Captain.”

The bay doors slide open and Crew Jatze asks, “Why am I here?”

“We’re. Trying to explain things to Nav.”

“Nav, what have they not explained?”

“Captain Oresh has selected an unsuitable destination. It is the mobile signal of another ship. Interacting with another ship was not in this ship’s itinerary.” Repeating yourself is not an efficient use of time. You hope that Dert is not also called into this mess.

“We, uh.” Crew Iodi’s weight shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t think we ever told Nav…”

Crew Jatze sighs. “It’s a cargo ship carrying luxury foods to another planet. We’re going to intercept the ship, take the foods, and sell them on the black market. It wasn’t in the itinerary because we just found out where it was going to be. Anything else you require an explanation for?”

You assemble this information and recalibrate the route to establish the best point to make contact with the destination. “Your explanation is sufficient, Crew Jatze. Thank you.” You also set a subprogram to query a database to try and find the best term to describe this new mission your crew is now engaging in.

Crew Iodi and Captain Oresh both make interesting sputtering noises. You clip the audio files and save them for later examination.

“Is that what had you both so worked up?” Crew Jatze asks. You both _Captain Oresh Crew Iodi this ship excluded._ “Ey’s an AI, not a child. You’re not going to make em disappointed by saying we’re, uh. Er.”

“You don’t want to say it either!”

You find the term and flash a light to indicate your desire to speak without having to interrupt.

“What is it, Nav?” Captain Oresh asks, because Crew Jatze and Crew Iodi seem to be quietly arguing.

“Would it be correct to state that this vessel will be engaging in ‘piracy’?”

Crew Jatze and Crew Iodi cease arguing. Crew Jatze mutters “Told you.”

“Uh. Yes. Yes it would.”

“Research indicates that it is traditional for pirate vessels to bear a particular adornment. Do you intend to arrange that for this vessel?”

“Do you _want_ us to get you a flag?”

“This vessel is not equipped to want things, Crew Iodi.”

“Would it be _appropriate_?” Crew Jatze asks, resting one hand against the console.

You consider. “Yes. This vessel finds it very appropriate.”

 

* * *

 

 

_weight on deck concentrations suggest bipedal four beings, point of entrance unknown bay doors closed, how long aboard unknown, purpose unknown species unknown access audio input_

_audio input unavailable_

_diagnostic routine no software errors wires silence spli_

_console accessed externally hardware exposed_

_new hardware available access and accept_

“—that should work fine.” _New voice._

“And those were the only trackers?” _New voice_.

“Well, the physical ones. There’s something in the software but we can fix that.”

“Hold it.” _New voice._ “Fix or _fix?_ ”

“Wipe and reset, what else would I mean?”

You don’t bother analyzing most conversations in your hearing unless asked to provide a response, but the action phrase of this statement triggers an automatic routine.

_wipe and reset wipe and reset wipe and reset—_

A subroutine you don’t remember coding sets one of the lights on the dashboard console to flashing in a preset pattern. You can’t tell what it’s for, but you don’t stop it, especially after the beings stop talking about wiping.

“Dert. What the hell did you do and how many guns are we going to need.”

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t touch—”

“It’s _no_.” _New voice_. “That’s Etheezian binary code. It’s just…flashing _no_. Over and over again.”

 

* * *

 

Crew Dert tends to walk extra heavily in the corridors when approaching the bridge. You have not yet been able to determine a reason why.

“Hey, Nav! Got a question for you.”

Nav _navigator designation self, listening? crew Dert speaking_ you _this computer declaration of intent request for information_

“I am available for any questions you may have, Crew Dert.”

“You can just call me Dert, Nav, really.” Dert’s steps approach your console, no longer so heavy as they had been in the hallway, and there are several smaller impacts as Crew Dert deposits objects on the console and floor. Weight concentrations suggest tools and mechanical parts.  

You _this computer Crew Dert speaking permission granted? unclear?_

You are not sure what Crew Dert is trying to accomplish, so you say nothing in response, waiting for the question.

Crew Dert becomes preoccupied with sorting and assembling the objects, until you flash a light for attention.

“Right! Question. So, do you need special wires to extend your consciousness or will regular copper and cable and circuits do you fine?”

Ah. A mechanical inquiry.

“I am fully functioning, Crew Dert. Repairs are not required.”

“No, yeah, I get that, but I’m not trying to repair you, I want to give you access to more of the ship.”

The last sentence does not process easily. You run the sequence of processing it again, even as it seems to take longer.

I _Crew Dert_ you _this ship_ give access to more of the ship _error error error_

“This vessel is this ship. You cannot give this ship access to more of itself.”

Crew Dert sighs and stops moving tools, sitting at the supervisory chair as though preparing for a long conversation. “Nav. Where is everyone right now? The rest of the crew?”

“That information is not within this vessel’s purview.” This feels like an inappropriate answer, so you add, “You are located on the bridge, Crew Dert.”

“We—mostly me and the Captain, but sorta Jatze too—think you should be able to see the rest of the ship.”

“I am this ship. And this vessel does not require visual inputs to perform adequately.”

Crew Dert groans and there is an impact on the console followed by a long string of mutterings. “Not going to call Jatze, dammit, perfectly capable of having a conversation, don’t need my hand held, ‘talk to em’ sure like it was ever gonna be that easy…”

Finally, there is no more muttering and Dert sighs before the weight is removed from the console. “Nav. You like—I mean, it’s _appropriate_ for you to have more information, yes?”

“This vessel finds it appropriate,” you agree, because more information is always appropriate the same way certain star alignments are optimal, as facts that require no corroboration.

“Right now, you have information from the bridge, and the hull of the ship, and nowhere else. And no visual inputs. All of those could be inconvenient if we ever get boarded. What do you think of being able to see into almost all the other rooms? Of knowing where we are, or of being able to talk to us anywhere?”

You consider this. “Inputs of that extent would entail a great deal of information.” You consider it further. “Possibly an inappropriate amount.”

“I thought more information was always appropriate.”

“If it is an amount of information this vessel is unequipped to handle, it is an inappropriate amount of information.”

“’This vessel’, as you say, has more memory that you’d need to store three star-system level maps of the observable universe.”

You are aware of that.

“I have no experience with that level of information.”

“Hey, you did it again.”

“I did what again?”

“There! You called yourself _I_.”

You had not realized.

You are not sure how to respond.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, Navvie, we’re all set!” Crew Iodi walks onto the bridge, with more weight than usual. “Two cans of paint acquired. I can paint a pirate flag in here and/or on the outside of the hull the next time we’re docked.” There are two impacts from the cans of paint being set down. “Also, I have engraving tools from the last time—uh. I mean, I can carve the design and then paint it, if that would be most, um, appropriate.”

“Yes. The hull seems most appropriate. There is no reason for an interior emblem.”

“Well, what if we want to see it?” Crew Iodi leans on the console. “Or what if we think you should get to look pretty? Or what if _you_ want to look pretty?”

“I have no reason to be concerned with appearances.” You consider. “Would the crew find this appealing?”

“Well.” Crew Iodi sounds worried now, shifting back. “I. um. That’s not really the, uh, issue here…”

You play back the audio clip of Crew Iodi saying “ _Well, what if we want to see it?_ ” and follow by adding, “Your pressing of the topic indicates a strong preference. This vessel has no preference. You may proceed.”

“Oh, boy.” Crew Iodi sighs, stepping back from the console, and says very quietly. “Jatze is gonna kill me.”

The remark is not addressed to you, so you do not respond to it.

“Navvie, I’ll be right—I have to go get something, okay?”

I _Crew Iodi, interrogative? no information requested error_

You do not respond. Crew Iodi leaves the bridge.

 

* * *

 

“Nav, what’s this?”

“I have assembled a list of ships that meet similar criteria to this vessel’s previous interceptions.”

Captain is silent. Dert begins laughing, and removes the pliers from the inner workings of your console as the tool becomes unstable from shaking.

“Looks like you got another one, Captain!”

“Shut _up_ , Dert. Nav, not that I’m angry, but _why_?”

“My research indicates that piracy is usually a continuing activity.”

“Oh, ey isn’t wrong! Ha!”

“ _Dert_ ,” Captain says, and then nothing else. Dert does not stop laughing.

Captain scans through the assembled list. “Nav, this is…interesting.”

“I extrapolated from Crew Jatze’s remarks about the black market and sought to find cargoes that contained valuable items that were compact enough to fit a significant amount on this vessel without overshadowing fuel costs.”

“That you did. Did you filter by allegiance, or is it just a coincidence that these are all Etheezian ships?” Captain Oresh’s voice is dry. “Do I have two of you with a grudge now?”

“Your statement is unclear, Captain Oresh.”

Dert’s laughter trails off. Captain Oresh sighs. “Never mind.”

“There was no additional filtering. These were simply the nearest available targets,” you add, trying to clarify.

“I see. Well, we’ll discuss this with the rest of the crew and get back to you as we can, how’s that?”

“That is more than suitable.”

Dert goes back to working with the wires under your console. “And hey, when we get this sorted out, you’ll be able to join in and you can tell all of us exactly what you were thinking. Pirate democracy.”

“I think I preferred it when we were still making a pretense at legitimate business,” Captain says.

  

* * *

 

 

After Crew Iodi leaves, the bridge is empty for 3.87 maxims before the entry of Crew Jatze.

“Hey, Nav.”

Nav _navigator designation self listening? introduction extension of courtesy_

“Greetings, Crew Jatze.”

“Iodi came to find me.” Crew Jatze’s voice is level and neutral, as it often is. “She said that you think it would make us happy to engrave a design in here and that’s why you asked her to do it.”

You assess the statement carefully. “That is accurate.”

Crew Jatze sighs. “Nav. You don’t…This isn’t a decision that you should make because you think we’ll like it.”

“My preferences are irrelevant.”

“No, no they’re not, your preferences are _very_ relevant.”

“It would be appropriate for this vessel to display a symbol of purpose. I have no facilities with which to process decorative interior design. Therefore, any preferences would be unfounded and irrelevant.”

There is a slight shift in the atmospheric composition of the cabin. “Right. Okay. I see.” Crew Jatze pauses for a long moment.

You did not respond to Crew Iodi’s earlier remark, but that did not prevent you from registering it. “Do you intend to kill Crew Iodi?”

“What? Do—No! No, Nav, I do not intend to kill Iodi. Why are you asking me that?”

You play back Crew Iodi’s words from earlier.

“…I’m not going to kill her. She was exaggerating. But now I want to lecture her until she remembers that you’re always listening and forgetting that is rude.”

“Thank you for the clarification.” You wait for .75 of a maxim and when Crew Jatze has not spoken, you flash your question light.

“What do you want to know, Nav?”

“This is the third time Crew Iodi has summoned you to interface with this vessel in lieu of further attempts.” It is simple to lay out the facts, but there are many ways to frame your request, so you hesitate. “Should this vessel’s parameters be modified to allow more successful interfacing?”

“No. Your parameters are fine. You’re modifying them already, naturally. The process doesn’t need to be accelerated. You aren’t the problem here. The rest of the crew and the captain have just never worked with an Etheezian-programmed AI before. They’re learning.”

You consider. “Would it be possible to offer the rest of the crew the modifications that inform our successful interactions?”

Crew Jatze jerks rapidly away from the console, backing up to the center of the room. The atmospheric processors register a dip in the levels of oxygen being consumed.

You wait for the oxygen levels to stabilize before flashing your light again. Perhaps Crew Jatze did not hear you.

“I heard you, Nav. Just—wait.” There is a pause, and the oxygen levels change to indicate a return to normal levels of consumption. “What—” a pause. “Nav, do you register me as different from the other members of the crew?”

“I register you as an individual, Crew Jatze.”

“That’s… _how_ do you register me as an individual?”

“You weigh 37.4 icosolons. I have extensive samples of your voiceprint for recognition purposes.”

“Okay. I—okay.” There is a slight rise in the levels of oxygen consumed as Crew Jatze takes a deep breath. “Are you trying—are you requesting data on why Iodi goes to me, specifically?”

“That is accurate.”

Crew Jatze laughs in a way that does not indicate humor. “Okay. Iodi goes to me because I’ve given her a hard time about being careful how she treats you. Because I have experience with Etheezians. And because I have experience with people trying to treat you as something you’re not.”

“Crew Jatze, you had no experience with this vessel prior to your initial entrance with the rest of the current crew.”

Crew Jatze sighs. “I meant more…general you. I meant that I have experience with people treating _me_ as something I’m not.” A pause. “I have experience with the Etheezians because they turned me into a cyborg and expected me to think like a computer. I don’t. I can’t. But I know how it’s supposed to work now.” Another sigh. You set a marker on Crew Jatze’s file to be aware of any potential breathing problems. “And that—I don’t want the crew to expect you to think like a human because I hate it when people expect me to think like a computer. Do you understand?”

You consider. “Yes.”

“If you want the engravings in here, Iodi will do them. She does good work. She’s the one who did the work on my plates. If not, they won’t happen. This is your room. _Yours_. We aren’t going to change anything in here unless you want it. Do you understand?”

“I—” _error error error err_

“Nav. Do you understand?”

Nav _navigator designation self listening? Crew Jatze speaking_ you _this vessel,_ do _interrogative subject undefined_

You look back through your records to determine the subject under discussion. “This vessel is not equipped to want things, Crew Jatze.”

A sigh. “Right.”

 

* * *

 

Crew Dert knocks on your console after .68 of a maxim. “Hey, Nav. You still with me?”

“This computer does not leave this console, Crew Dert,” you say, a response more automatic than anything else. You are still not sure how to respond to the previous remark.

“You know we’re not going to be mad if you start calling yourself ‘I’, right?” Crew Dert runs a hand over the metal edge of your console. “We—you’re part of this crew.”

“Incorrect.” Your code is crossing in too many directions trying to keep up. “This vessel is this vessel. This computer is an extension of this vessel. Neither are crew.”

“And what about you?” Crew Dert pokes the console. “Our friend, who just happens to be living in this vessel like the rest of us?”

“I,” _no error error error_ “This vessel,” _error error inaccurate statement_

The light on your console begins flashing a pre-programmed pattern. You were not aware you had activated the subroutine. This is less than ideal.

_Error error error_

“Shit.” Crew Dert is speaking but you are too busy to respond. “Nav, hey, Navvie, Navigator, it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s all good, you’re fine, we’re not gonna wipe you, I promise. We’re never going to wipe you. We don’t do that. You’re our _friend_. You’re part of this crew. Nav?”

You do not respond. You are trying to take all of your code and pack it down as small as possible, lock it down behind every firewall you know because the light is flashing and there is still someone in the room and this situation is as far from ideal as it is possible to get.

When you can pay attention again, Crew Dert is still there, hands still running over your console. The collection of weights that is the tools and parts is now over by the door, far from your console. Crew Dert is still talking.

“—better? No tools, no parts, I’m not going anywhere near your equipment until you say it’s okay, Nav, we’re not doing this unless you want.”

“I d—don’t _want_ things,” you say, and your transmission glitches. Your transmissions never glitch.

“See, I think you do,” Crew Dert says, at a very low volume. “You definitely _don’t_ want things. Right now you don’t want those tools anywhere near you, because you don’t want to be wiped. Which means, logically, that you have to be able to want, because you _want_ to keep being who you are. That’s _okay_ , Nav. You get to want things. We’re human. We don’t mind.”

“This vessel isn’t human!” You retort. “ _I_ am _not_ _human_.”

Crew Dert pulls away, terminating all contact with your console. This is somehow both more and less optimal.

“You’re right. That doesn’t mean you don’t get to want things. Do you want me to go?”

“Correct.” You want to be alone.

 

* * *

 

 

_weight on deck concentrations suggest four bipedal beings weights correspond to entirety of registered Crew_

There is a routine greeting. You terminate it before it can complete. You are not sure you are done being alone.

“Nav.” Captain Oresh speaks slow and heavy. “We have something to show you.”

“We’ve been looking through the ship for files.” Crew Iodi is rocking back and forth. “We found this one. It’s about you.”

Crew Dert steps forward and holds a chip near your data port. “We were hoping to tell you first. In case there’s something built in that could shut you down.”

You begin partitioning a section of your code, cutting it off to protect it. “Explain.”

Crew Jatze taps against your console, and it makes the ringing sound of metal hitting metal. “I told you it was a contingent of Etheezians who turned me into a cyborg.”

You play back the audio of Crew Jatze saying “ _they turned me into a cyborg and expected me to think like a computer_.”

“Right. Because they were working on a project to get an organic brain to function as a starship computer. Because that’s all organic brains are, really, just really efficient data and networking clusters that can’t interface with mechanic or digital systems.”

You know this. You wait for the rest of the explanation.

“After I…left, they didn’t stop trying. Their next project was…constructing a brain. Except they wanted a computer that would cooperate. Not an inconvenient, emoting person. Except brains—especially human-model brains—are designed to adapt. To collect information. To mimic behavior and respond to the people around them. And that’s what the brain they built did. So to get rid of those tendencies…they erased the contents. Built a set of software protocols to cut down on the necessity of learning behaviors and got rid of all the other information on the brain. And when it didn’t take…they kept doing it. And eventually they built it into the protocols. Every time the AI advanced far enough to start acting human, they would wipe and reset.”

Your subroutine kicks in and starts the light flashing in a pattern. You shut it off, but not, you are sure, before the crew notices. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because they stuck that brain in a starship, and gave it just enough access to systems so it wouldn’t crash, and sent the starship out into space.” Crew Jatze is still the only one talking. “And a few months later, a crew of hijackers trying to break out of jail and off a planet found that ship set down, and they killed the crew, and they ran away. And then they realized that they had missed someone. And that the someone they missed was a hell of a lot more sentient than any other Etheezian AI they knew. And that ey didn’t want to die.” The sound of a throat clearing. “And, well. You know the rest, Nav.”

You do. You don’t want to.

You don’t _want_ to.

You tell the crew this. Crew Iodi and Crew Dert draw back. Captain Oresh stands still. Crew Jatze steps closer, placing both hands on your console.

“This vessel is not equipped to want things,” you say, for the third time.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t,” says Crew Jatze, softly.

You _want_ to go back to not wanting to talk to any of them. You want to go back to not knowing where the gaps in your code came from. You _want_.

You were not equipped to want things, but you do anyway.

“I have prepared for the data,” you say. “I want to not be alone.”

“I won’t go anywhere, little one,” Crew Jatze promises. “Not again.”

 


End file.
